


Heavy Connection

by idyll



Series: Totally Hardcore [1]
Category: My Chemical Romance, Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Crossover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-08
Updated: 2007-09-08
Packaged: 2017-10-07 10:25:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/64236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/idyll/pseuds/idyll
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ronon's lips are lush and ripe behind the slight fringe of his goatee, and his tongue is slick and sly in Bob's mouth, and Bob maybe doesn't want it to end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heavy Connection

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Arsenic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arsenic/gifts).



Bob meets Ronon in an emergency room in Colorado. That fact...yeah, says something about the both of them when you consider that it was a tragic accident involving a sander, some duct tape, and one of Gerard's shoes that landed Bob there, while Ronon was _hit by a fucking bus_ and is _still conscious_.

"It was a little one," Ronon clarifies.

"That is seriously hardcore," Bob says, sounding no less awed than he did the first time he said those same words, because, come on, _a bus_.

All Bob did was sheer many layers of skin from his forearm. With a sander. He feels so lame in comparison.

*

Bob was shuffled into the semi-private room after the third fan snuck back to stare at and take pictures of him when he was parked out by the nurse's station.

Ronon was already there, having been exiled due to the way he was scaring the staff, which is sort of amazing and disturbing both. ER nurses are probably some of the toughest folks Bob's ever come across.

"Seriously hardcore."

Ronon scowls at him. "Stop saying that."

Bob says it again. He can't help himself; it's an impressively intimidating scowl.

*

The band descends on Bob like a fucking tornado, Frank leading the way and Gerard not far behind him. Ray picks up the back like a bastion of sanity and sedateness that Bob clings to in the face of Frank and Gee's flailing concern and mockery. They even pass on Mikey's contributions, made by phone before they got to the hospital.

Ronon smirks at the fretting and the chiding Bob is subjected to. Bob's sort of insulted, but then Ronon gets his own visitor, a somewhat insane looking guy with sandy hair and crazy blue eyes. He yells and screams and waves his hands in the air while Ronon listens, as long-suffering and indulgent as Bob was with his band.

"It was a small bus," Ronon says, and it's obvious he means for that to calm the freaked out guy at his bedside.

The guy becomes even more visibly upset at this news, however. "Oh my god, you were _hit by the little bus_? Sheppard is never going to let me live this down. I can't believe you did this to me."

Bob smirks and, this time, finds Ronon's scowl more amusing than anything else.

*

Bob maybe looks when the doctor comes in and has Ronon lower his hospital gown to examine his ribs. Bob might also sort of notice that Ronon stares blatantly every time Bob pushes his hair out of his eyes and tucks it behind his ear.

*

At one point Ronon asks, "Why were people trying to take pictures of you?"

Bob shrugs uncomfortably. "I'm in a band."

He waits for the inevitable questions, the sudden flare of interest that has nothing to do with him, per se, and reminds himself that he shouldn't be too embittered because this life of his has far more perks than drawbacks.

But Ronon just says, "Oh. Cool."

*

All told, they spend seven hours in that small room together. Eventually Bob is patched up and released while Ronon is off getting x-rays. Bob tries to stick around, wait for him to get back, but his nurse asks him pointedly to be on his way because not only do they need the bed, his friends are attracting a crowd in the waiting room.

*

Two weeks later they have the luxury of staying overnight in an actual hotel. Bob has absolutely no fucking idea where they are; everything's a huge blur and he doesn't even stress himself with trying to remember anymore.

Worm's leading them to their rooms, but he comes to a sudden stop after they turn the last corner on their floor. Frankie bounces off his back and Ray grabs his arm to steady him.

Gerard peers around Worm and says, "Uh, Bob."

Bob trips around the others with Matt's help, exhausted and sore, and when he follows Gerard's pointing finger he finds himself looking right at Ronon, who's standing in front of the door to Bob's room.

Bob grins, surprised and maybe even a little excited. "You are seriously fucking hardcore, man."

"Stop saying that," Ronon rumbles, deep and vaguely threatening, but Bob can tell he's having to work at not smiling.

*

In Bob's room, Ronon presses him back against the closed door and stares at him, contemplatively, before reaching out and tucking Bob's hair behind his ear, his fingers lingering.

"Not to sound like you're not welcome here, man--because you're _really_ fucking welcome here--but how the hell did you find me?"

Ronon smiles, this little Mona Lisa thing that makes Bob want to suck his mouth. "I know people who can find out anything."

Bob thinks he should be alarmed by that statement, but Ronon's just licked his lips and Bob's sort of distracted by the wet shine of them. "They, uh, use their powers for good? These friends?" Ronon nods somewhat solemnly and Bob feels entirely comforted about whatever it is that he should find alarming. "That's, uh, good. Hey, I'm gonna kiss you now, okay?"

It's insanely better than good, that first kiss. Ronon's lips are lush and ripe behind the slight fringe of his goatee, and his tongue is slick and sly in Bob's mouth, and Bob maybe doesn't want it to end.

"Can I stay?" Ronon asks, pulling back only slightly.

Bob just gives him a look like he's crazy, and then yanks him down for another kiss.

*

Ronon keeps pace with the tour for a week, though he doesn't actually ride the bus with Bob because there was no way he was going to fit in the bunk. Also, no way was the band going to put up with Bob getting laid every night when all they'd want to do was sleep or unwind.

Bob's not entirely sure how Ronon's getting from venue to venue. He always means to ask but then he realizes that he really has to suck Ronon off, or Ronon realizes that he absolutely has to fuck Bob up against a wall, and then it's orgasms and come-dumbness all around. Bob's not complaining about that.

*

Eight days after Ronon showed up at Bob's hotel, he pulls Bob onto his lap fully clothed. They're in the bus because the guys aren't heartless dicks and they have generously been giving Bob and Ronon as much alone time in the bus as they can before the caravan starts up again.

Ronon pushes Bob's hair behind his ear and says, "I have to go."

Bob pauses in his attempt to get his hands under Ronon's shirt. "Oh. You mean, like...tonight?"

Ronon shakes his head. "Now. In a few minutes. It's--work."

Bob's asked what Ronon does for a living but all he knows is that Ronon works for the government, some kind of contractor on a presumably classified project that usually keeps him out of the country and out of contact.

"Oh, that's--" Bob breaks off and laughs, the drags a hand down his face. "Fuck. I got a little too--I should have been more careful."

Ronon pulls Bob's hands away from his face and looks at him, sad and regretful. "I'm sorry."

"No, it's not your fault. I knew better. Really."

Ronon inhales. "So did I."

Bob laughs again, nothing amused in the sound. That really doesn't make him feel better. In fact, it might make him feel a bit worse. He slides off Ronon's lap, turns away and doesn't say anything. It's shitty, maybe, but it's better than saying what he thinks might come out of his mouth if he opens it.

He can hear Ronon behind him, standing up, and then he feels Ronon's lips on the top of his head. "Be safe," Ronon murmurs against his hair.

"You too," Bob says after Ronon's left the bus.

*

Two months later Bob gets a package in the mail that has been opened and resealed multiple times, is stamped with several conflicting postmarks and includes a notice informing him that the contents were inspected for classified information and released without redacting.

"Whoah, that's hardcore," Frank says when he sees it.

Bob smiles despite himself and then blinks when he pulls a set of seemingly handmade drumsticks from the small box. The wood they're made from is unpolished and unfinished, but smooth as silk, and Bob drags his fingers along them, surprised when his fingers don't catch on slivers of splinters. They're as dark as mahogany, but not nearly as heavy or dense, and they smell a little to the left what Bob knows wood to smell like.

He takes them in hand hesitantly and they're _perfect_; they fit his palms and fingers like they were made to spec for him, and respond exactly like his own well-worn sticks do. That's less surprising when he digs further into the box and finds one of his own drumsticks. When he holds it against the darker set he finds that they match.

Ronon's note is typically brief: I don't get a lot of time off. But you can write, if you want. It might take a while to get to me, but I'd like that.

Bob thinks he would, too.

.End


End file.
